He Passes By Me
by denihil
Summary: Pre-series. Weird things start happening during a hunt in New England.


The old library is empty at this time of night, and the librarian spends a lot of time helping Sam find the books he needs. She helps him bring them all into one of the private study rooms at the back of the library, where Sam opens the first ancient book from top of the stack and starts reading. After a while, she brings him a drink from the coffee machine in her office.

The pile of books is bigger than he'd thought, or at least reading them takes longer; Sam is only halfway through them when the lady comes back to the room and tells him that she's closing up. Dad had told him to argue for more time if he needed it, or ask to bring the books home: Sam is almost eighteen now, but the whole 'maternal pity' thing still works for him most of the time. But tonight he doesn't have the energy, not after she has been so nice to him.

He messages Dean, and turns down her offer of a lift home. The librarian shows him out, locks the front entrance behind him. Sam attempts to smile reassuringly back at her worried look through the glass.

It's long since dark, and outside the night is cold and windy. The library's not far from the town center, but the streets are oddly deserted, even though it's Friday night. Sam hunches his shoulders and looks down at the pavement, and doesn't notice his brother until Dean punches him on the shoulder.

Sam looks up at him, then around at the empty street. "Where's the car?"

"I walked here. Dad said we should stay here until we were done researching." He holds up a crumpled paper bag. "I brought you dinner."

"The library's closed, Dean."

"So?"

"So, I'm tired. I want to go back to the hotel."

Dean grins. "You can walk, then."

Sam glares at him. "The librarian's still in there."

"Then we wait."

He turns away before Sam can answer. Sam had been looking forward to getting home in the warm and forgetting about cult murders for a few hours, but he doesn't have much of a choice. He follows Dean, away from the main entrance and across the parking lot beside the low building, into the shadows cast by some old, dying trees.

After a few minutes, the librarian appears from the back of the building, holding her bag. Sam watches her get into the lone car in the lot.

Next to him, Dean grins. "You and her having some alone time, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't answer. The librarian starts her car, and drives away.

"Come on." Dean grabs at his arm, then heads for the nearest window.

Sam follows, reluctant. "Can't we just come back tomorrow?"

"Why, you worried about your girlfriend?"

Again, he doesn't answer. Actually there _is_ a girl, sort of, back where they're staying in Newport, one who for obvious reasons Dean doesn't know about. One who still pays attention to Sam even though she knows he lives in a hotel, and who he'd had to lie to about where he was going this weekend. She didn't need to know about looking into random disappearances in some stupid town no one had ever heard of.

But the librarian, she had been nice to him. Sam doesn't want the possibility of her finding out that he had broken into the old books collection after she had trusted him, and made him coffee. The thought makes him feel sick.

Dean gets the window open quickly – small town libraries around here aren't big on security, it seems – and Sam follows him in. He leads Dean through the stacks to the glass cabinet that contains all the old and valuable books. The ones Sam had been reading are still sitting in a pile; she hadn't resorted them.

Dean starts to pick the lock, but it the glass screen slides open straight away under his hands. She'd forgotten to relock it.

Great. Just his luck. So now if anyone figures out they've been here, the librarian will get the blame. She'll probably lose her job. Sam grabs the books he hadn't looked through yet, takes them into the same room he'd been in before, and dumps them back on the old wooden table.

At least the room doesn't have windows, so they can turn the light on. Dean sits down opposite him at the table. "Okay, eat your food. Then we'll start reading."

Sam opens the bag Dean had brought him and unpacks his burger and fries, as Dean opens one of the books.

"Oh man," he says. "Genealogies. I was hoping the whole way here that there would be lots of genealogies, you know. I love genealogies."

Sam doesn't respond.

"So what names are we looking for?" He grabs some of Sam's fries.

"Be careful. Don't get stuff on the book."

Dean shrugs. "They didn't want people to eat near the old books, they should have made photocopies."

Sam glares at him and doesn't answer.

"I'm joking, Sam. Christ, what's up your ass tonight?"

_I'm tired and it's late and I want to go home and that lady was really nice to me,_ Sam thinks_. _He shrugs.

Dean stops for a second, like he's thinking. "You really tired, huh?"

Sam nods.

"Alright. You wanna lie down, I'll research for a while."

He looks at his brother cautiously. "Really?"

"Sure. It's late."

He nods again. When he's finished his burger, he lies down on the carpet next to the table, folds his jacket up and puts it under his head. In front of him, Dean opens a book.

He'd only really meant to rest his eyes. But he wakes up an hour later, his head hurting from the makeshift pillow and the room still bright around him. Dean isn't there.

Sam sits up, leaning against the wall behind him. His head is still fuzzy from the sleep and he doesn't get up straight away, just sits and waits for Dean to come back from the bathroom or wherever he had gone. He doesn't.

Sam pulls himself up, wincing slightly, and goes out into the main area of the library, which is dark and silent. He calls out 'Dean' softly, and then louder, as loud as he dares when he's inside a building illegally.

No answer.

Sam is getting annoyed now. He checks the bathrooms, goes back into the room to get his phone from his jacket, calls Dean's cell. No answer.

Inside the room, a book is still open on the table, as if Dean had stared reading and then just gotten up and left.

Sam leaves it there, turns off the light, and crawls back out of the library window. The street is dark and still as ever. He calls out a few more times, louder out here.

Still no answer. The street is still eerily quiet, like not a car had gone by the whole time they were inside the library. Sam really doesn't like this town.

He tries to think it through. Dean wouldn't just wander off, not this far. On the other hand, what could have possibly happened to him that Sam wouldn't have heard from a few feet away? He considers it for a few minutes, trying to delay the confusion turning into real fear. It doesn't work very well.

Finally, he pulls out his cell again. His dad is still downtown, as far as he knows, at the site of the disappearances.

"Dad," he says when he picks up. "Is Dean there with you?"

"No, he's not. Where are you?"

"At the library still. I can't find him." He looks around again at the empty street.

A pause. "I'll be there in a minute, Sammy. Stay inside."

Sam closes the phone, heads back across the parking lot and waits by the window. He tries Dean again, without success. His dad arrives within ten minutes.

"You shouldn't be out here by yourself at night," he says as he slams the car door behind him.

"It's just a library, dad."

John ignores him, and Sam follows him in through the window. He points him towards the room at the back.

"When did he leave?" He turns on the light.

Sam hangs back at the door. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I was asleep."

His father looks at him weird for a second, and then nods. Sam stands uncomfortably as John looks over the stack of books, and then at the book that Dean was reading. He examines this one for a little while, reading, and he says "Alright. Come on."

"Do you know where he is?"

No answer.

"Where are we going?"

Still no answer. Sam follows him back outside and to the car, climbing in the passenger side. He's getting angry now, on top of the fear. He is acting like this is somehow Sam's fault.

"Where are we going?" he asks again as John starts the car.

"I'm taking you back to the hotel."

"No way. I'm going to help you look."

"I thought you were tired, Sam."

Sam looks at him angrily. "Don't try to blame me for this!"

"I'm not blaming you."

"You _are_ –"

"Sam." He cuts him off. "We're going back to the hotel."

The tone makes Sam want to punch something. He squirms in the seat angrily.

"You take me back there," he says, as firmly as he can, "I'll just go out and look for him by myself. You can't stop me."

John doesn't answer this. He just nods, looking at the road. "You need to go to the bathroom?"

"What?! No." Great, now his dad is treating him like he's eight.

He nods again and pulls up, turns into a parking lot next to what looks like a warehouse. Sam looks around. Like most of the town, the place is empty, and dark.

"What's this place?"

He opens the door. "Wait here, Sammy."

Sam sighs, leaning impatiently against the passenger door as his dad opens the trunk. He glances out the window. There are barely any streetlights outside. Is anyone even alive in this stupid town? And where the hell could Dean have gone around here?

He sits up only slightly when his dad gets back in the driver's side, still deep in thought. When he grabs Sam's wrist, Sam barely has time to look at him, confused, before the handcuffs are on.

"Dad!" He pulls back. "Hey! wait! What are you doing?"

It's already too late. His dad yanks Sam's wrists forward, pushes a cable tie around the cuff chain and fastens him to the wheel. The whole thing is over in seconds.

"Dad!" Sam yells angrily. "This isn't fair! Let me go!"

"I'm sorry, Sam." He is checking Sam's pockets, pins him when Sam tries to kick him. He pulls out the knife he keeps there and then slides out of the seat, standing up next to the car. "If I tied you up at the hotel, someone might hear."

"Dad!" Sam yells up at him. He hears his voice break slightly. "Dad, please…"

"Sorry, Sammy," he says again. "I'll try not to be long."

He closes the door. Sam starts to scream. "DAD!! LET ME GO!!"

"There's no one around, son," he says through the glass, and leaves.

Sam attempts to pull free by force, which accomplishes nothing but a lot of pain in his wrists. He tries anyway, trying to break the cable tie, which shows no signs of giving in. He tries biting at it, which doesn't work. He kicks his legs against the inside of the door, and screams in rage. He's so angry he almost begins to cry.

After a while, he calms down, or just runs out of energy. Sam leans as far back as he can against the seat, blinking tears out of his eyes.

Outside the car, everything is silent except for the faint sound of the wind. The whole world could have collapsed into the void for all he can tell.

Okay, Sam thinks. He can get out of this. He might not have anything to pick the lock with, but he's got his phone, right? Dad hadn't taken that.

With some awkward maneuvering, Sam manages to retrieve the cell from his jacket pocket. He flips it open, looks at the screen.

Calling the cops is usually a big no, of course. But this is an emergency. Dean is missing, and it's obviously serious, judging by his dad's actions.

Maybe Sam can somehow get the cops to come and cut him loose, and then try to talk them out of anything else. He's got fake ID, and there's a chance they won't ask too many questions about the car. Dad and Dean will kill him, but he can worry about that later, right?

Sam puts his finger on the 'nine' button, and the phone rings.

Sam jumps and almost drops it, which would have been disastrous, since he can't reach the floor. He manages to get a grip on it, and sees that the caller ID says 'Dean.'

Grinning with relief, he maneuvers the phone to his ear. "Dean?!"

"Sammy?"

"Where the hell are you?"

Dean laughs. "I'm in a bar, dude." His voice is slurred.

"What the hell, Dean? Me and dad have been looking for you!"

A pause. "Okay. Where are you?"

"I'm tied up in the fucking car, Dean! Dean, dad's really worried about you. He – "

"I'll come get you, Sammy. Where are you exactly?"

"In a parking lot off Aylesbury Street, near the river. But Dean, you should – "

"I'll call him. Wait there for me." He hangs up.

Sam closes his phone, confused.

He waits, leaning forward against the wheel to take the pressure off his sore wrists. He'd been expecting a car to pull up, or something, but apparently Dean had walked here, because Sam doesn't hear him approach. He starts when Dean pulls open the driver's door.

He should feel ridiculous, tied to the wheel like this, but he's too confused.

"Shove over."

Sam moves across as far as he can to give Dean room to sit down, and Dean pulls out his knife from his jacket and quickly cuts through the cable tie.

"Thanks." Sam says uncertainly. He moves back further towards the passenger door.

Dean nods.

Something's wrong, Sam thinks.

Well _obviously_ something's wrong, but this is something else, something worse than Dean just wandering off. He watches as Dean puts the knife away in his jacket, retrieves his keys and starts the engine.

"I called dad," Dean says vaguely as they pull out of the lot. "He said take you back to the hotel."

"Where did he go? Did he steal a car again?"

Dean shrugs.

Sam frowns. "Dean, are - are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"Where – where did you go? From the library, I mean."

He shrugs again. He turns a corner, following the river, in the exact opposite direction of the hotel. Sam waits for an explanation - even an excuse would be okay at this point - but Dean just keeps driving.

Sam shifts uncomfortably. The cuffs feel heavy on his wrists.

He should have called dad again, he thinks.

Dean doesn't speak as he drives, doesn't look at him. Sam wishes he could stir up more of a reaction in himself, wishes that he didn't feel so resigned.

Outside, the night goes by, the sparse town getting sparser. "We're not going to the hotel, are we," he says finally.

"No, we're not."

"You didn't call dad."

Dean shrugs.

Sam bites his lip. Dean keeps his eyes on the dark road.

Sam's phone is still next to him, on the seat. He draws his knees up slightly to block Dean's view, and then inconspicuously as he can, flips it open beside him.

"Where are we going?" he asks, to distract him. He starts to dial.

Dean ignores the question, holds out his hand. "Give me the phone."

"No."

He glances over. "Give me the phone, Sam."

Sam gives him the phone.

Dean reads the number on the screen, smiles, closes the phone, and puts in his pocket.

They drive for a long time. Dean is following the river towards the coast. Eventually he pulls off the road, into a gravel lot. Sam can hear the ocean faintly over the wind, and as Dean stops the car, he can see in the dim moonlight that they're on top of a low hill that leads down to the shore.

Dean gets out of the car. He goes around to the passenger side, opens the door, and when he leans over to grab him Sam kicks him in the stomach.

Dean recovers quickly, blocking Sam's next blow. He grabs Sam, yanking him roughly up out of the seat, and throws him hard down on the ground beside the car.

The impact knocks the wind out of him, and for a couple of seconds nothing in his brain fits together. Sam lies, choking, looks up in the dark, as Dean stands over him.

He crouches down beside him then, and pulls Sam up into a sitting position, brushes gravel off his back.

"Come on," he says, and hauls him up, gently enough, as if Sam had just fallen.

Sam still can't breathe right. His mind isn't working. Dean puts an arm around him to keep him upright, and starts leading him across the lot, towards the sea.

"We just have to see some people, Sammy," he says next to Sam's ear.

It's cold, the wind stronger here than it was in town. In front of them the sea is black, faint lines of foam the only thing visible. Beside it, on the shore, he can just make out a group of people. They're standing together on the sand, watching them come near.

There's a rough path leading down to the shore, and Dean starts to lead him down it, between groups of black rocks.

"Dean." His voice is still weak, breaking. "Who are they."

No answer.

"What are they going to do?"

Dean looks at him, face slightly confused in the weak light, like he hadn't considered that question before and can't imagine why Sam is asking it. He shrugs slightly and doesn't answer.

Sam's breath is coming back, and he pulls away, weakly. "Dean. Dean, are you insane? They're going to hurt us!"

Dean looks puzzled still, his grip hard on Sam's arm, around his shoulder. "Why would they do that?"

The people coming up to meet them now. Three men, and a woman, and they have guns, and when he sees that, and Dean's look, somehow it just doesn't seem worth it to fight anymore.

They pull him away from Dean, and Dean lets them do it. They lead him down towards the beach. Dean is with them.

The people don't even look at Sam, or talk to him. He doesn't bother asking them questions. The biggest one pushes down hard on his shoulder, until Sam gets the idea and sits down in the sand. The woman sits down in front of him and begins tying his legs up with rope.

Sam doesn't resist. He's learned well by now when it is worth trying to reason with someone, or appealing to their conscience, or trying to bargain. And none of those things seem to apply now.

"Why are you upset?" Dean asks him from where he's standing next to him. "What's wrong?"

Sam doesn't answer.

"Sit down there," the woman says to Dean, and he sits down in the sand next to Sam. He turns to her, like he's suddenly mildly interested. "What's going on, anyway?"

Sam knows he should be paying attention to this, trying to find out what's going to happen, what exactly has happened to Dean. But he can't dredge up the interest. He stares down at the damp sand.

"You just have to sit down and wait here," the woman says to Dean.

"Wait for who?" Dean asks, his tone still casual. They ignore him.

Sam has started to figure it out. "I think we're bait, Dean," he says wearily.

"What?"

No one answers. One of them is tying Dean's wrists now.

"I don't want to be bait!" Dean pushes the guy away, and stands up. The man yells something at him.

It's in another language, one that Sam's never heard before, and Dean shouldn't understand it. But he goes quiet instantly, as if he had just lost an argument.

"Sit down," the man says, and Dean sits down.

Sam bites his lip, and looks back down at the sand.

They tie Dean's wrists, and then tie him to Sam, back to back, a few feet from where the waves are reaching. Sam doesn't resist. He just feels tired.

"You have any weapons on you?" one of the men asks Dean.

"Knife. Inside my jacket."

Even after everything he has seen already, Sam still winces.

The man takes the knife. The people stand over them for a few seconds, and then as a group, turn away.

Sam had not expected that. And usually, it would be good that they're leaving, like a James Bond type thing, the bad guys not there to watch them die. But now? From the look they'd given them before they left, it's more like they're too scared to stay.

There is sea on one side of them, and on the other the steep hill, which the group is now ascending. The strip of shore between the two probably won't last much longer at this hour.

So they're bait for something. Or possibly some sort of nature sacrifice, which would just mean drowning rather than getting eaten. Logically, the latter is more probable, but logically isn't the best way to look at things in a place like this, not after the way those people were acting.

That means there's something coming for them, and Sam doesn't know what.

And he should be planning something, should _already_ have planned something, but somehow he just can't work up the effort. He is hurt, and tired, and the willpower just isn't there.

Nothing happens. Time passes, the waves lap closer, the cold water starting to soak through his jeans and jacket. Sam closes his eyes.

"You shouldn't cry, Sammy," Dean says eventually from behind him, over the sound of the waves.

Sam opens his eyes again. He hadn't noticed he was crying. "Dean, some monster's going to come and kill us."

Dean laughs. "That's stupid."

Sam bites his lip, and goes back to crying.

He is scared, getting more and more scared as the numbness lifts, because he knows he's in this by himself now; Dean isn't really here. And that might be bearable, even, if Sam had some idea what he was dealing with. But he doesn't. For all he knows this is unconnected to the job, to the disappearances, or anything they've dealt with before.

As annoying as research can be, he'd always liked it more than the actual hunting, because at least it gave you boundaries, some kind of rules for whatever you were dealing with. Now he has no idea what they are up against, and he is utterly alone.

The sea moves closer. It's darker now, somehow, and overcast, the blackness so deep that Sam can't tell anymore where the sea meets the sky. It takes a while longer for the fear to fully overtake the self-pity, for him to gather any shreds of resolve he has left after tonight, but gradually it does happen. The water's up around both of them now, and the sound of the waves is driving him insane.

Okay. Insane. That's good, that's something, since Dean is clearly insane right now.

Sam tries to think about what he's read about insanity, and brainwashing. What would they have done to Dean to make him act like this, to make him -

He doesn't dwell on that; he should focus on how to make it better. Sam squeezes his eyes closed and tries to think.

_Fear is the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind. _

The thought comes to him out of nowhere. Sam doesn't even remember where he'd read it.

But it seems right, and relevant somehow; he knows it intuitively, like he had researched how to deal with this somewhere a long time ago and then forgotten.

Fear is the way to get to Dean. It's worth a try. But Dean is not afraid of anything.

Except dad, maybe.

Sam speaks up, over the sound of the waves. He tries his best to stop his voice shaking. "Dad's going to kill you for this, you know."

He feels Dean laugh against his back. "No he isn't."

"He is," Sam says. "You drove me here. This is your fault. He's going to be so mad at you, I swear he is."

No answer. That could be a good sign.

"I'm going to call him," Sam goes on.

"You can't, Sammy."

"He'll be mad. Seriously, Dean, he's going to kill you."

Sam hears him take a deep breath.

"Fine," he says finally.

Sam breathes in too, and for the first time since they'd got here he allows himself a small amount of hope.

"My phone's in your pocket," he says. "Try to turn to the left."

Dean does it. Sam exhales.

He twists around as much as he can, trying to get to his brother's jacket pocket. Even with Dean's help it's a stretch just to get his fingers near the top; his arm feels like it's about to break.

Dean laughs as he tries to grab the phone. "That tickles."

Sam's fingers slide across the plastic, then brush something next to it.

"What's that?"

"Pocketknife."

_Holy crap,_ Sam thinks_._

"I - I thought you gave them your weapons."

Dean laughs. "That little thing? That's hardly a weapon, Sam."

Silently, Sam thanks God for the fact that his brother is a moron.

With some awkwardness he fishes out the knife, pulls it open, and quickly starts hacking at the rope tying his ankles. Thankfully it's not too difficult, even with the cuffs: it's just like Dean to keep his pocketknife ultra-sharp.

"Hm," Dean says after a minute of cutting. "Did you hear that?"

"It's me cutting the ropes."

"No. _That."_

He stops. He hears nothing except water and the wind.

Sam starts sawing again; he gets his ankles free and starts on the ropes tying him to Dean.

Then it's there again, louder, and the noise is low, like it's under the ground.

Sam has never heard anything like it. It's coming from somewhere deep, like they're next to some sort of underwater cliff. And it sounds like something big.

The tension cuts out as he gets through the ropes, and Sam pulls free and scrambles over, splashing through the shallow water. He starts on Dean's legs. Dean glances towards the ocean, looking uneasy. It seems even darker now, and Sam can barely see his face.

"I don't like this," he says.

Sam shakes his head and grabs him as the rope gives out. "Let's go. Let's go."

Dean stands up. Sam grabs his arm to pull his brother towards land, and then something grabs his leg.

He is yanked back violently, pain shooting up his calf as whatever it is wraps hard around his leg. Sam screams, his mouth full of wet sand, and then Dean is there half on top of him, stabbing at whatever it is with the knife Sam had dropped.

It wraps tighter, and with one pull it drags both of them half into deeper water. Sam screams again, kicking, trying to get a grip on the sand under him. It's no good: a wave crashes over him and everything goes dark and blurred and muted.

He feels Dean's weight on his leg again; another stab and for a second the leg is free. Sam pulls himself up, grabbing at Dean as he scrambles to his feet. He runs. Dean is next to him and he doesn't look back. He's too scared.

Halfway up the hill towards the car Sam trips, and his shoulder hits the ground hard. He is pulling himself up when the idea occurs to him. The car is up there, but _they_ might be there as well.

"Dean. Wait."

"What is it?" He grabs at Dean's arm and pulls him down roughly, off the path.

"Wait here."

Dean doesn't respond. He's looking dazed now. Sam pulls himself up over the next layer of rocks to get a look.

Sure enough, there's a man there, standing in front of the car across the lot. In the dim light Sam can see that he's holding a rifle.

Sam shrinks back down, behind the rock.

Great, he thinks.

The man isn't looking in his direction, but it's pure luck that he hadn't heard them already over the wind.

He moves back towards Dean. When he's there he risks a quick look at the ocean. What he can see of it looks quiet, but there's no way he is heading back in that direction.

He's noticed now that he's shaking, although he doesn't know if it's shock or from the cold. "We need to get further away from the water," he whispers to Dean.

"I don't feel well, Sammy," he says quietly.

"I know, but we have to get away."

Dean is looking vaguely towards the sea. He's still holding the knife, Sam notices. He eases it out of his hands, and cuts through the ropes on Dean's wrists. Dean doesn't seem to notice. One of his hands is cut, the blood dripping down his arm.

"Give me the phone."

Dean pulls it out of his pocket, and then his own phone. They're both soaked. Sam tries both of them anyway, just in case. They're dead.

Great, he thinks again.

He's so tense he can hardly think. He knows he should try to get them away from here now, find a way around this guy and any of the other people standing watch, and get back to town while it's dark. That's what dad would tell him to do.

But the thought frightens him, and it's not even so much the people ready to shoot them on sight. It's Dean. He doesn't want Dean anywhere around those people, and he doesn't want to think about why.

"Come on," he says, and Dean stands up. Sam leads him over to the best place he can find on the hill: a small space between some high rocks about halfway down the slope, where they are reasonably out of sight. They're hidden from view from the path, if from nothing else, and it's well above the high water mark. If whatever that thing was could come out of the water, it would have done so by now, Sam tells himself.

He's not very good at making himself believe that, though. Sam is shivering. He sits back, leaning against the cold stone behind him. As the shock starts to die down he's becoming aware of the fact that they are both soaked in freezing water. One of his wrists is swelling up, and he holds on to it.

Next to him, Dean is staring into space, his expression confused.

"That thing was trying to hurt you, Sam," he says.

Sam closes his eyes. All he can think about is what it would have been like, being dragged down, under the water. "I'm okay."

"You're hurt."

"It's okay."

Dean nods. He pauses for a second, and then wraps his arms around him.

The action is so un-Dean like that Sam freezes. He doesn't move, just lets Dean hug him, resting stiffly against his brother's shoulder. He understands what Dean is trying to say, but he can't relax, can't stop his mind from racing.

Sam stays still, and time just moves on like that. Just the awful sound of the ocean, and Dean next to him. Eventually he manages a kind of half-sleep, which comes more out of exhaustion than any kind of calm.

It's close to dawn when he wakes up. Sam sits up quickly, and Dean pulls away from him, looking sick, and hits his head on a rock.

"Sammy, where the hell are we…"

It is painfully light, even with the rocks blocking off most of the sky.

Sam winces. So stupid of him, not getting away when it was dark, just because he'd been scared. Now they'll come looking for them and -

"Sammy?"

Sam sits up as he recognizes the voice.

No way, he thinks.

"Dad?"

Sam pulls himself up, scrambles out from their hiding place and up the path towards the top of the hill.

His dad is there, grabbing him and hugging him painfully.

"Sam. You're freezing."

Sam doesn't answer; he doesn't know what to say. He wants to cry. His dad lets go and pulls off his jacket and wraps it around him. Sam looks past him as he's doing so, and sees that the man by the car is gone.

No, not gone, on the ground. The gunshot must have been what had woken him up.

John pulls out a pistol from his jacket, shoves it into Sam's cuffed hands. "Where's your brother?"

"He's down there, dad, he's…"

"Okay."

He's probably expecting Sam to follow him, but he hangs back. That nice pure feeling of relief is fading; anger and unease starting to creep back in.

John finds him, and Sam hears the two of them speaking faintly. When they come back into view, Dean looks even worse than when he'd woken up, and his dad has his arm around him.

"Get in the car, Sam."

Sam obeys, and gets in to the passenger seat, stepping over the dead body on the way. He doesn't look down at it. His father puts Dean in the back seat and then climbs in the front.

"Give me your hands," he says to Sam. Sam holds them out, and he pulls a key from the pocket of his jeans and unlocks the handcuffs. Sam pulls back, rubbing his wrists. John says nothing about the fact that he had cuffed him in the first place.

He leans back against the seat as his father starts the engine. In the back, Dean smells like he's just thrown up.

"How may were there, Sam? Apart from that guy?"

"There were three more of them, but – "

"Alright." He cuts him off. "I'm taking you both back to the hotel."

Sam nods, confused. He expects him to say more after that, to ask questions about what had happened, or at least tell Sam off about it. That would at least give Sam an excuse to yell back at him.

But he is quiet the whole drive back. When they get to the hotel it's no better, and it's starting to make him upset. It's not even like he is ignoring Sam; that at least would be normal. It's more like he doesn't notice Sam is there, like he's deep in thought.

"Okay," he says when they're in the room, as Dean sits down on one of the beds. "Dean. Get into the shower."

Dean doesn't move. He stares down at the floor, looking uncomfortable.

John had been packing various weapons into his bag; now he looks up. "Dean," he says.

Dean still doesn't move. His expression is terrified.

John pauses for a second, then goes on, his voice quieter. "You don't want to go in the water?"

Dean nods. He looks like he's on the verge of tears.

Sam doesn't feel much better: he doesn't like seeing this. The idea of Dean crying is creepy, it's like Dean hugging him, or Dean –

But his dad doesn't comment on it.

"You go then, Sam," he says. He doesn't look at him as he speaks.

Sam frowns, but he's cold and dirty enough to not argue.

In the shower, he washes off the salt water, and the blood from the cuts on his leg. The calf is covered with deep scratches, although he has no idea exactly what had caused those. Sam cleans them up and dresses them as best he can, since he would prefer it if no one else did it at that moment.

When he comes out of the bathroom, his father is gone. Dean is still sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket and holding a flask that dad must have given him. One of his hands is bandaged.

Sam takes a deep breath.

There's no reason to be nervous, he tells himself, not now. He dumps his dirty clothes in the pile and starts looking for something clean.

"Sammy." His voice is weak still, but it sounds better than before.

"What."

"Dad wouldn't want me to tell you this." He pauses, and Sam turns to look at him. "But he's impressed by how you managed to get free in the car. How'd you do it?"

He's so surprised to hear Dean forming coherent sentences again that it takes Sam a second to figure out what he's actually referring to. Sam had been way too concerned with other things to think about it up until now, but now that he considers it, he realizes that they must both assume that Sam had found his way to the beach without Dean.

Which would have involved both cutting through the cable tie and the existence of a spare key for the Impala that dad didn't know about. And a possible bizarre, misguided solo rescue attempt.

"Fine," Dean says when he doesn't answer. "You don't have to tell me."

Now John's attitude is starting to make a bit more sense to him. Sam sits down on the other bed.

"He's real mad, isn't he."

Dean doesn't answer.

"He won't _look_ at me, Dean."

Dean looks uncomfortable. "He has to leave us alone here to go find those people. And he doesn't trust you, and he knows that I can't take care of you right now."

Sam feels his fists clench. Even if he _had_ gone to pick up Dean, and Dean hadn't driven him there, this still isn't Sam's fault. He considers telling Dean what had really happened; _that_ would make dad act differently.

But if he tells Dean, then Dean will tell dad, and dad won't understand, not really, because he wasn't there and didn't _see_ Dean, and so he'd just get all angry at Dean and then everyone would be miserable, especially Sam.

So he doesn't say anything.

--

Dad is gone all day. Dean is obviously exhausted and still sick, but he won't go to sleep. Possibly he assumes Sam will run off on some sort of vigilante mission as soon as he closes his eyes. Sam can't sleep either. He lies on his bed for most of the day, as Dean watches TV. He can't concentrate enough to read, and he's too tense to even try to rest.

When dad gets back in the evening he announces that they're going back to Newport that night. Dean asks him about the job, and he says it doesn't matter now; he'll come back and finish later. Sam is so glad to get out of the town that he complies with no questions at all.

On the way back they stop in a diner, and when Dean leaves the table to go to the bathroom Sam finally has a chance to talk about it.

"What happened to him, dad?" He is too nervous, and the question comes out overly casual, like he's asking about the weather.

John still won't make eye contact, but he answers. "It was the book he was reading at the library."

"What do you mean? The history books?"

"It wasn't a history book, Sammy. There are some books out there, you get your hands on them and they mess with your mind, make you do crazy things. You ever heard of that?"

Sam had, a long time ago.

"So maybe he picked it up by accident, maybe someone gave it to him," he goes on. "I'm going to find out. But not with you boys there."

Sam swallows. He doesn't want to think too much about that, about who could have put the book there. He changes the subject. "I thought those books made you go insane, though. _Insane_ insane." He pauses. "Like, forever."

"I assume they were talking it up. Either that, or it's just Dean."

Sam glances over to his brother. Dean has emerged from the bathroom, and is now deeply engrossed in conversation with the girl behind the counter.

"What was he acting like?" His dad interrupts the thought.

Sam had had enough time to think over it in the car, and decide how much he was going to tell him. "He was just… you know, all dazed," he says.

It's pretty much the truth, really. Sam changes the subject again. "Do you think that maybe he was like, inoculated against it? Like, he saw so much already he could take whatever it was that he read, it didn't hurt him all that much?"

His father doesn't answer.

--

They drive back to Newport. Once they're there dad finally talks Dean into having a shower. Dean makes him stand outside the door the whole time, but after that he seems okay. Neither one of them mentions it again.

Sam's the one that doesn't get better. Sunday morning, dad leaves again to finish off the hunt. The night before, Sam still can't sleep. It's not even nightmares; Sam is used to those. Now, he can't even sleep long enough for a nightmare to even start.

One of the cuts on his shin has swollen a little and gone red, and his wrists are still bruised, but the pain shouldn't be enough to keep him awake. He just can't relax. He lies, for hours, watching Dean sleeping across the room.

It doesn't make sense. Sure, there was that thing with Dean, but then afterwards Dean had tried to stick up for him. It wasn't his fault really. And he'd helped Sam afterwards as well, saved his life probably.

But there's something wrong now, something that Sam can't quite grasp. It's deep, like the ground had shifted under him.

Monday morning, he starts getting ready for school when Dean is still in bed.

"What's wrong with your leg?" Dean asks as he's getting dressed.

"It's nothing."

Dean sits up a little. "Let me take a look at it."

"It's nothing, Dean. I'll get the nurse to look at it today."

Dean sits up more, pushing aside the sheets. "Oh, no way. You know you don't go to the nurse at school, Sammy."

"I'm almost eighteen, Dean. What's she going to do?'

Dean ignores him. "It looks infected."

"I think there's just some dirt in there or something. It's – "

"Give me a look."

Sam sighs, but gives in, sitting down on the bed. Dean kneels down on the carpet, and grabs his leg. "There's something in there. Lie down on the bed, I'll get the stuff."

There's no use arguing at this point. He lies down as Dean gets the first aid kit from the bathroom and then sits down at the end of the bed, dragging Sam's legs over his lap.

"Okay, hold still."

"Holy fuck, Dean!" He's digging in with the tweezers. His brother isn't the most gentle surgeon around.

Dean grips his leg tighter to stop him squirming. "It wouldn't be so bad if you hadn't let the skin heal over it, you little brat."

Sam winces at a particularly bad moment of pain. "I hate you."

Dean looks up at him right as he says it, at exactly the wrong time. Their eyes meet, and he can tell that Dean knows how much he had meant it.

For a second Dean looks down, flustered. Then he recovers, and resumes what he's doing. A few seconds later he holds up the tweezers. "Here it is. A bit of rock or something. Wanna keep it?"

Sam looks away in disgust, and Dean throws it at him before shoving Sam's legs off of him and standing up.

Sam sits up, picks up the small shard off the sheet.

"It's a tooth, Dean."

Dean's expression only changes for a second, and he pales slightly. He recovers quickly, and grins. "Good thing you didn't go to the nurse, then, huh Sammy."

Sam doesn't answer. He's still uncomfortable and vaguely sickened. He keeps remembering that horrible moment of weightlessness, when that thing had tried to drag him under.

Dad had taken another car in an effort towards anonymity, so Dean gives him a lift to school. He's quieter than usual on the way there, and Sam can tell when his brother is pretending not to care about something.

He thinks about apologizing, but that would involve acknowledging what had happened.

"Sammy," Dean says when they arrive, as Sam is about to get out. "Hey. I… I don't remember what happened back there. On Friday, I mean."

Sam shrugs, uncomfortable. He rubs at his wrist.

Dean goes on. He still looks a little sick, Sam notices; his face is still paler than usual. "I mean, if it was bad… you can talk to me about it, you know." He emphasizes the 'me' slightly, as if Sam would possibly have anyone else to talk about it with.

"I'm fine," Sam says.

"Okay, then," Dean says uncertainly. "Well. Take care."

Sam nods, unfolds himself from the car. "I'll get home by myself," he says, and closes the door.

--

Dean turns up at Emma's house two days later, in the evening when they're watching TV. He has already started talking to her mother before Sam can get there and intervene.

"…I'm his brother," Sam hears him saying. "SAMMY!" he hollers past her. Sam cringes.

He smiles as pleasantly as he can at Emma's mother, and tells her that they need a minute. Then he follows Dean out the front door.

Outside it's already dark, and getting cold. Sam stops in the driveway. Dean is heading straight back over to the car, like he expects Sam to just follow him.

"So, you found a new family then, Sammy? Who is it, some kid from school?"

Sam folds his arms, uncomfortable. "Yeah. A girl. I'm staying here and studying for a few days."

For a second Dean looks relieved. "Well, at least it's a _girl."_

"Shut up, Dean."

Dean leans over the roof of the car. "So. You didn't feel like _telling_ me before you went off staying with your girlfriend?"

"You wouldn't have let me go."

He nods. "Okay. And what was I meant to do if dad got back and you weren't there, huh, Sammy? How do you think he would have taken that?"

Sam can't help sneering at the idea. "He wouldn't have cared."

Dean nods again. "That's crap, Sam."

"Oh yeah? We almost die, and he takes off for a week the next day. Yeah, he cares a whole bunch."

"He has things to –"

"He handcuffed me to a _car,_ Dean! He can go to hell."

"Sammy – "

"_Don't call me that."_

Dean pauses for a second, takes a deep breath. "Get in the car, Sam."

"No."

Dean stops, like he hadn't considered this happening. "_Get in the car."_

Sam smiles through his anger. "Or what? You'll shoot me?"

Dean doesn't answer, doesn't react.

When Sam was fifteen and hurt, when he had just gotten back from the hospital after lying to the doctor about the twenty stitches in his leg, he had gone in to their bedroom and told Dean that this was it, Sam was leaving; as soon as he was healed up enough to walk properly he was gone. Dean had been reading something on the bed, and he'd tossed the magazine aside and started on about his usual reasons for why Sam had to stay. About Sam getting put in a home, and his grades, all the arguments that had worked on him up until then.

In retrospect, Sam knows, Dean had been right, Sam had been overconfident. At the time, though, he hadn't accepted any of it and he had argued past everything: he was old enough defend himself now, he could get through school on his own, he could even get his own money.

Finally Dean had run out of arguments. He was still calm, though, even though Sam had gotten more and more worked up. He had just nodded, and said "I'll track you down."

The tone was matter-of-fact, not threatening at all, but it had shut Sam up, and ended the argument. Sam wasn't old enough at that point to call him on it, ask Dean exactly _what _he would do after he tracked Sam down. Back then Dean was still bigger than him, and everything else was just implied.

Or so Sam had thought. But now, thinking back, he wonders if maybe _this_ was all that Dean had been threatening. Not violence or anything, just that Dean would do what he'd said he would, he'd track him down, and then Sam would have no choice but to go with him because of his supposed conscience and loyalty. And maybe Sam had known that when he left this time.

Now, Sam takes a deep breath. "I'm not going with you, Dean. I'll come back when I'm ready."

And those words are all it takes to change something in Dean's expression, and Sam knows that he'd been right about the threat. He has won.

Dean's shoulders slump just a little, but mostly he just seems confused, like he had been back in the hotel room, when Sam told him he hated him. He looks like he doesn't know what to do.

"Okay. Okay then." He smiles awkwardly, more like a grimace. "Okay Sammy. Fine."

He gets in the car, and starts the engine practically before the door is closed.

Sam kind of wants to stop him, to apologize. But it's too late; Dean is already pulling out of the drive. He watches him leave, watches the car disappear down the quiet street.

Then he turns, and heads back into the warmth of the house.


End file.
